Tied Together
by bowtruckles
Summary: "Over the course of his many attempts, the fabric had become crinkled and every time he tried to fasten it around his neck, little beads of sweat popped up on reddening face and he was sure that nobody, in the history of mankind, had ever been as much of a walking disaster as he was." Written for theperksofshippingromione.


_A/N: Wishing the happiest of birthdays to my amazing friend theperksofshippingromione aka wazlib88! You deserve all the best (and all the bagels your heart desires), today and every day!_

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Ron scowled down at the tie, then up at his reflection in the mirror, then back down at the patterned strip of silk in his hands.

Things were not going to plan.

When he tried to put himself into a rational frame of mind, he knew he should not have resented it as fervently as he was doing - it was just some Muggle accessory, nothing more - but the bloody thing just would not cooperate. Over the course of his many attempts, the fabric had become crinkled and every time he tried to fasten it around his neck, little beads of sweat popped up on reddening face and he was sure that nobody, in the history of mankind, had ever been as much of a walking disaster as he was.

Behind him, the door creaked open, and reflected in the mirror he could see Hermione entering his bedroom. Her dark blue dress just barely skimmed her knees, and gem-encrusted earrings glittered on either side of her face.

Ron spun to face her, letting the ends of the tie drop onto his chest.

"Hey," he greeted her, unable, despite his anxiety, to stop the smile spreading over his face at the sight of her. "I thought I was meeting you at yours."

"Oh, I know, but I was ready early," said Hermione as she reached him and stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek, "so I thought I'd come see you."

That, or she had somehow sensed that he was slowly spiraling into a tie-induced panic, but he thought he wouldn't overanalyze it.

"All right, well-" He paused to kiss her squarely on the lips before turning back to the mirror and noting, with considerable dismay, the way his hair stood up at all angles; he could have given Harry a run for his money. "I'll be ready in a mo', then."

As she seated herself on the end of the bed - which gave him all kinds of ideas that started with skipping this dinner with her parents and ended with her dress in a pile on the floor - Ron valiantly picked up the ends of the tie again. He knew how to do this. He'd been taught by Bill, at the tender age of thirteen, during the family trip to Egypt, but since then he hadn't had many opportunities to put the skill to use, and now five years had passed and the tie he had borrowed from his father had become a crumpled mess in his shaking hands.

But he would do it. He was eighteen now, a trainee Auror, he'd yelled at Lord Voldemort and landed Hermione Granger - he would tie the damn thing even if it killed him in the process. He looped one end around the other, once then twice, then looped the bigger end under - but no. Now it had creases in places it shouldn't, and when he went to adjust it, the knot cinched so tightly against his throat that he reminded himself of Percy. He wanted to make a good impression, but not _that_ sort of impression.

"Oh, come here," said Hermione, rising and approaching him again. "I can help you."

"No, no, I've got it," said Ron, unknotting the tie and resituating it under the collar of his dress shirt, "I've just got to-"

But Hermione's hands closed over his, soft and small and cool against his flushed skin, and he stopped. For all that they'd spent their formative years bickering, for all that she made his heart hammer in his chest and set his nerves alight, she was also the most grounding, steadying force he had ever known. Just the simple act of her skin on his, and her intent, affectionate gaze, soothed his frazzled nerves like nothing else.

"I'll do it," she said softly, patting his collar gently into place. "I want to."

She ran her fingers down the length of fabric, smoothing it out, and Ron watched as that dear, familiar look of concentration came over her face; he had to actively work not to kiss her.

"I don't know why you're nervous," she added, comparing the lengths of the two ends of the tie. "You've met my mum and dad before."

"Yeah, but it's different, I'm your boyfriend now."

It'd been three months, yet he still sometimes couldn't believe he could say that, and he found himself fighting back another smile as he spoke.

Hermione raised an eyebrow at him. "You were my boyfriend in Australia too."

"Right, but there was a lot going on then, it wasn't - y'know, it wasn't exactly the point of the whole thing, but now they've gone and invited us to dinner."

"Because they like you."

"Yeah," said Ron slowly, entirely unconvinced. "I don't know about that."

"I do," replied Hermione, startled by this, her fingers ceasing their slow, steady motions as she looked up at him. "Why wouldn't they?"

So many reasons flashed through his stress-addled brain that he struggled to grasp one long enough to actually express it.

"I'm a wizard," he said finally as her fingers deftly circled the fabric around itself.

"So? They're not the Dursleys."

"No, 'course not, but I'm so different from them. My whole life, the whole way I grew up is so different-"

"Maybe you've forgotten," she interrupted, "but I'm a witch too, and I'm their daughter-"

"Right," he said with a little laugh despite himself. "And that's the thing, what if..." He pressed his lips into a tight thin line, reluctant to speak the words lest he make it come true by doing so.

"What if what?" prompted Hermione, sliding a perfect double Windsor knot into place at the base of Ron's throat. Her hands, however, stayed resting on his chest.

"What if they don't think I'm right for you?"

The words hung in the humid air of the attic bedroom as Hermione narrowed her eyes at him.

"But you are right for me."

"But they're your parents, and - and I'm sure their opinions matter to you, and..." He couldn't believe he was actually about to say it, but he'd started this whole thing and now he couldn't _not_ say it, no matter how much the words hurt on the way out. "And if that's something that's a dealbreaker for you-"

"Dealbreaker?" repeated Hermione, aghast. "Why would you being a wizard and my parents being Muggles be any kind of problem for me?"

"Well, just 'cause, I mean..." He released an exasperated breath; none of his words were coming out right. "I mean, what if this night goes terribly and it makes you realize that maybe this isn't what you want-"

"No."

"No?"

Hermione shook her head fervently. "How I feel about you isn't conditional. And it isn't..." She stood up straighter, her hands still on his shoulders, looking him dead in the eyes. "To me, this isn't just dating to see where it goes, it's... to me, it's forever."

He had sort of known it, already, the way she felt. She had never articulated it quite so clearly, but it was there in the little things: how she curled up against him on the nights they spent together, and the way her fingers always sought his out, and her determination to stay by his side even in the dark early days after the battle. He had already understood, somewhere deep down, that this wasn't casual, and it wasn't just a young romance. It was something more, something deeper, something stronger.

"Maybe that's crazy," added Hermione in a rush, regarding him with a sort of panicked look in her eyes, "since it's only been three months, and - and I suppose I'd understand if-"

"No, it - it is for me too." Ron's words came out anxious, half-strangled. "Has been for a lot longer than three months, I reckon."

Her hands slid up his shoulders and onto his neck as she pulled his face down to hers, and he could not stop himself smiling against her lips as the gap closed between them.

"Then it's sorted," said Hermione when they broke apart, now combing her fingers through his hair to tidy it. The soft scrape of her nails on his scalp sent tingles over his skin. "You've got nothing to worry about."

"Yeah, again, I don't know about that." At her inquisitive look, he continued. "I'm still the bloke who's shagging their daughter."

Hermione let out a startled laugh. "Maybe don't lead with that," she said as she brushed one last strand of his hair into place, "but I promise you that it'll be fine."

Ron took one last look in the mirror. His tie was knotted flawlessly around his neck, his hair no longer looked like a ginger version of Harry's, and the flush in his cheeks had calmed considerably... but all he saw was Hermione beside him. She was all that mattered anymore.

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_Thanks for reading! Please review :)_


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